


Big Mouths and Bigger Guns

by CNS



Series: Compensating for Everything [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: I was tempted to make his nickname 'mix master', M/M, Swerve's a friggin master mixer, Time Travel, characters to be added as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 20:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6344902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CNS/pseuds/CNS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron and Swerve knew each other once upon a dream... Or rather, once upon a time when Swerve was in disguise and actually wound up getting to know a young Megatron for two months.</p><p>Now they just have to figure out if they still fit together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Mouths and Bigger Guns

The usual partying is going on in the Lost Light, but it's muted in this corridor. Something Ultra Magnus is very grateful for. He doesn't think Megatron would be inclined to open up if there was pounding music and shouting clearly audible through the door. In one hand is a cube of Fool's Energon, and in the other is a cube of engex for himself. His fuel inhibitor chip is on, so he can enjoy the engex without worrying about the... behaviours it could cause. So he pings Megatron, waiting politely for the co-captain to open the door. When he does, an eyebrow raised, Ultra Magnus raised the cubes. "I thought that perhaps you would appreciate some fuel-" Poisonous as it is, "-and some company while everyone else makes fools of themselves in the bars."  
"How considerate of you, Ultra Magnus." He steps aside, allowing the third in command in, and soon they're seated, with only a torso plating wide bit of space between their shoulders. Ultra Magnus sips from his cube as Megatron examines the Fool's energon, thumb rubbing over one of the upper corners of the cube.

Fans hum quietly, fuel pumps work steadily, and finally... Megatron sips from it. He pauses for a moment, optics flickering, then lowers the cube. The silence is especially still for a few moments before it's broken gently. "I miss him." The faintest hum prompts him to continue. "I miss his drinks. What they mean." Megatron dragged a hand down his face, looking particularly tired. "He called himself Swinger, when I met him." Ultra Magnus snorted softly.  
"I'm not surprised."  
"He painted himself blue." Now _that_ was a surprise. "I recognized him as soon as I saw him but... the paint was wrong. I suppose that's why he did it. Perhaps." Megatron glanced at Ultra Magnus from the corner of an optic. "I knew it was him, with no doubt, as soon as I saw his work in his bar. He has... It sounds quite shallow, but he has magical hands."  
"In what sense?"  
"Have you ever watched how he mixes his drinks?"  
"No, I cannot say I have."  
"It's possible he was the best bartender that Maccadam's ever had." Megatron curled a lip. "I heard that _Blurr_ thinks he can do it well."  
"And you disagree?"  
"He is a talented mech, and very fast, but I do not believe he has the instincts that would make him a _great_ one, like Swerve."  
"How did you meet Swerve?" Ultra Magnus asked, gently trying to get him to continue. A fond smile stripped years from Megatron's face, making him seem less tired.  
"At Maccadam's. I didn't have much taste when it came to the 'finer things', admittedly. I usually just had whatever Impactor gave me..."

  
                                                                                                                                     - - - - -

 

"-What do you mean, you just drink whatever Impactor gives you?" Swinger asked, looking aghast. "What the frag, mech, you're never going to find out what your specific tastes are if you do that!"  
"I don't generally have access to a variety of fuels or treats, so it doesn't bother me that much," Megatron said, watching the minibot with curious optics.  
"That's wonderful, but if you're here you're trying something better than just mid grade or a medium blend of oil." Swinger wagged a finger at him. "Besides, I know the favourite drinks of _all_ of my customers, and we're not just settling on what you usually have. That would be a crime."  
"If you insist."  
"I do insist. So do you like sweets or more neutral tastes?"  
"Sweets."  
"Then close your optics and prepare to be blown away by my mixing powers." Megatron laughed, when Swinger dimmed part of his visor in a wink, then watched with amusement as the minibot got to work. "So sweets, huh?"  
"Yes?"  
"Let's see just how blown away you are with this." Megatron blinked, then hummed and gave a slight shrug.  
"I'm not sure if loading me up on sweets is the best idea."  
"Trust me, it'll be the perfect amount." The concoction slid across to him was a work of art, and he stared.  
"... What is it?"  
"A little mix I made up just now that isn't on the menu. Go ahead, try it."

  
                                                                                                                                     - - - - -

 

"He didn't name it, so I did." Ultra Magnus made a quiet noise to show he was still listening, and Megatron smiled. "I called it 'Nostalgia'."

  
                                                                                                                                     - - - - -

 

Elsewhere, meaning Swerve's room in this instance, Swerve was laying face-down on his berth. There were two things he greatly appreciated in life; occasionally mean-spirited humour, and drinks. Lacking the latter, he had to admit that vanishing in front of a young Megatron, only to fall into the arms of a much older one, could be seen as kind of funny. If you weren't Swerve, and if you hadn't spent the last solid two and a half months building a relationship. It was kind of hilariously sad when you were Swerve and had spent that time. What's even worse is when Skids starts knocking on your door because you haven't showed up for your own welcome back party. Whoops. "I'd rather be dealing with this off-panel while you all focus on what someone else is doing. Maybe Megatron. Maybe Brainstorm. Who knows." Pushing himself up, he huffed. "Hang on!" he shouted, hoping Skids would tone down the intensity of the now pounding knock. Fortunately for his sanity and temper, Skids stopped and waited.  
"So why aren't you at the party?"  
"I mostly just felt like, really really tired. Time travel, mech. Whoo. What a trip."  
".... Right. Are you trying to avoid Megatron after the whole tripping into his arms bit?"  
"Who told you?"  
"Brainstorm. Perceptor confirmed it after Whirl pestered."  
"Whirl knows? I'm dead."  
"A bit, yeah," Skids said, smiling sympathetically.  
"How bad is 'a bit'?"  
"He actually managed to get some mechs to make a banner."  
_"Oh frag."_

"He booked an appointment with Rung for you."  
"Oh frag."  
"Riptide is trying to mix a drink for you."  
_"HE'S WHAT?!"_

Swerve darted around Skids. That mech couldn't be allowed behind his bar, what if he wound up poisoning everyone-?  
"Congratulations, shut the hell up!" Whirl said, shooting confetti over him, then plucking him up off the floor and ignoring Swerve's yelp. "- You've possibly made history! Megatron didn't drop you on your face like he's done for Starscream!"  
"How is that history?"  
"Who knows and who cares, I just want to see Starscream's face when he hears about it."  
"... I'm not sure if that would be the best thing to be remembered for."  
"Well you sure as frag can't get remembered as the most handsome mech to ever live, because that's me. Come on, shut the hell up, let's get you to the bar!"  
"Please stop calling me that."  
"Wasn't that your nickname at the Academy?" Skids asked, not intending to give Whirl permission to continue, but-  
"See? Cheer up, shut the hell up!"

                                                                                                                                     - - - - -

 

"You claim 'shut the hell up' as a nickname?" Megatron asked, looking aghast. Swinger shrugged.  
"Well it was thrown my way a lot, so eventually people started using it to call me and..." He tipped a hand from side to side. "It's not the greatest, but it is what it is." He blinked when Megatron took his minibot hand in both of his large miner hands, cradling it like it was made out of Praxian crystal.  
"Then allow me to give you another nickname," he said quietly. Swinger swallowed, wondering if his throat had always seemed this rough.  
"Sure, handsome. Anything you like as long as it's not bad at mixing." Megatron smiled and leaned forward to murmur close to Swinger's audial.  
"I would like to call you 'champion mixer.'"

  
                                                                                                                                     - - - - -

 

"A better nickname I've got is 'champion mixer'."  
"Who gave you that? A mech with dead taste receptors?"  
"If you put me down I'll tell you."  
"I doubt it's _that_ interesting, short stuff."  
"I assure you it is."  
"Oh fine then." He set Swerve down. "Who gave you the title?"  
"Megatron."


End file.
